This April dusk blinds the busy lanes

This April dusk
blinds the busy lanes
the dying sun flames
west-bound windscreens
folks in the front seats
pull down the shields
their chests refulgent
every traffic signal
a fierce winking amber
a bus driver in Ray Bans
puts a palm over his eyes
like he has walked in on his parents
lighting up the marital bed
horns blare in football anthems
windows lower, arms reach out
the watches are hoops of sparks
You fuck your sister!
Stick it up your arse!
it goes nowhere
and from nowhere
an old lady starts to cross
she’ll needs be guided
by the hand of God
is all I can think
as they swerve around her

as the killer sun sets
on the killer streets
she makes it, oblivious
to time and place
and orderly forward motion
as motorini shoot by
like burning arrows.
Nobody Can See A Fucking Thing
which hinders nobody
as they go about
their April sunset business
hundreds of pedestrians and cars
masses of humans under my balcony
driving themselves ablaze
into the blinding light of all consciousness
or is this really what it’s
like when death comes?